


Rupert

by sadlittlepeachesandplums



Series: Quentin and Eliot Drabble Collection [9]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M, quentin and eliot have the best son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 00:59:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13752918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadlittlepeachesandplums/pseuds/sadlittlepeachesandplums
Summary: He’s fifteen when he realizes. Honestly, he’s always suspected that his dads loved each other, but growing up, they’d always just been there. And they’d always just been . . . them. Close and somehow, not. He’d had moments before, obviously, where he expected Papa El to lean in and kiss Dad, but then, he just leaned passed him, and picked up a new mosaic piece, and in all honesty, Rupert’s attention span has never been long enough to really pay too much attention to his parents beyond that.





	Rupert

He’s fifteen when he realizes. Honestly, he’s always suspected that his dads loved each other, but growing up, they’d always just been _there_. And they’d always just been . . . them. Close and somehow, not. He’d had moments before, obviously, where he expected Papa El to lean in and kiss Dad, but then, he just leaned passed him, and picked up a new mosaic piece, and in all honesty, Rupert’s attention span has never been long enough to really pay too much attention to his parents beyond that.

But, there’s a day, just a few weeks after he turns fifteen, when he walks out of their little cottage in the woods, and sees his dad and his papa kneeling over the mosaic. Papa El has his hand on Dad’s back, gently stroking, as he points at something Rupert can’t see, and Dad’s slumped over, nodding. Then Papa El laughs, loud and boisterous, in the way only dad can make him laugh. And he stands upright, turning away from him, pointing a finger and calling out a harmless jab. All normal, unsuspecting, average interactions. Papa El’s laugh fades into a chuckle, as he turns to head towards the garden, turning his back on dad. But, that’s when Rupert see’s it.

Dad doesn’t turn his attention back on the mosaic, like Rupert expects, instead, he just stares after Papa El, watching him with this soft look on his face. Rupert’s seen the look before, obviously, you don’t live with two people for fifteen years and not see every expression their faces can possibly make, but it’s the first time it really clicks.

Maybe it’s because he’s finally found someone of his own to love, in Annabeth in the village across the stream. Or, maybe it’s that he’s finally old enough to understand the look in his dad’s eyes. He’s not sure. All he knows, is Dad is holding a piece of the mosaic in his hands, flipping it over and over absentmindedly, as he watches Papa El walk away. His eyebrows curl in, and his mouth falls open, a slight quirk to the corner of it. And his eyes are all bright and happy.

Dad loves Papa El.

But then Papa El turns around, still grinning, and Dad shakes his head with a roll of his eye’s in Papa El’s directions and focuses his attention back on the mosaic.

Rupert frowns.

And then, because he’s a meddlesome teenager with exactly zero sense of self control or common logic, he marches over to his dad, and stands next to him, staring down at a puzzle that’s only a quarter of the way through. Dad smiles at him, pats him on the shoulder, and sits down to place the tile that he’d been holding. Rupert sits down on the little lip at the side of the mosaic. “So,” He says, nonchalant, “You love Papa El?”

Dad freezes for a moment, before looking up with an almost cautious, confused smile, “Of course I do, Rup. He’s my best friend.”

Rupert rolls his eyes, leaning in, “Dad,” He says, softer now, eyes darting up to Papa El to make sure he’s not listening. He’s not. He’s too focused on checking on his prized tomatoes. “I mean. Like you loved Mama.” he raises his eyes as Dad’s shoulders tense up almost imperceptibly. But, as naive and blind as Rupert is, he’s not blind to his fathers nervous ticks. It’s one of the things every teenager should know—that way they know which parent to go to when they want to ask for something.

“Rup . . .”

“Why don’t you tell him?”

Dad watches him for a moment, mouth falling open slightly, before he shaking his head, running a hand through his hair and shuffling across the mosaic to grab a green tile. “I don’t know why we’re discussing this,” He mutters, “It’s not even—I don’t—“ He huffs, sitting up on his haunches and glaring at Rupert. “Go to your room.”

Rupert rolls his eyes, “Seriously?”

“Yes!”

“No.”

Dad glares, though it holds no heat. It almost feels like a silent pleading. Like he’s asking Rupert to _please stop_. But Rupert is relentless, so he holds the glare. Tries to be more intimidating. Which isn’t hard. Dad isn’t the intimidating one. Papa El is the one who can practically glare a three headed bare off. Dad couldn’t even scare a teddy bear. He’d probably just make the bear cry and cuddle him.

Dad’s a softie. Not that it’s a bad thing. It’s why he’s the one Rupert usually goes to for anything.

“You’re too young to understand,” Dad finally says. “And we’re not discussing this.”

“I could ask Papa.”

Dad’s eyes flash, like Rupert’s betrayed him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I mean. Wouldn’t i?”

Dad levels him with an almost dangerous look, before sighing again, and sitting up. “Rup,” He says, soft, twisting his neck to double check that Papa El isn’t listening, and turning back when he see’s that he isn’t. “Your Papa and I—we have a very complex—“

“You’re practically married.”

“I—Well. Yes. But—“

“And you both raise me. You’re both my dads.”

“I know that. I just—“

“And you love him.”

“I do. But—“

“And he loves you.”

“I just, don’t—wait. What?”

Rupert’s just as shocked as Dad when he double takes, and nearly drops the tile in his hand. Does he really not know? While Dad’s glances are secret and careful, Papa El’s eyes are never not locked on Dad. He’s never not touching him. He’s never not comforting or caring. Papa El loving Dad has always just been an obvious thing that Rupert never had a moment to second guess, because there was never a moment it wasn’t just . . . there. “Papa El. He loves you—do you really not know?”

“Rup,” Dad says, voice suddenly strained as he pushes up until he’s standing, “You don’t even—“

“How do you not know?” He doesn’t mean for the slight tone of pity that comes with the question. And for a moment, he thinks maybe dad hadn’t noticed. But then Dad’s shaking his head and walking away, hiding his face behind his hair. His hairs long, but not long enough to hide the hurt scowl. “Shit. Dad I—“

Dad waves him off and heads into the cottage.

Papa El finally turns away from the tomatoes, “What’d you do?”

Rupert huffs, rolling his tongue. “Tried to get him to talk about his feelings.”

Papa El raises an eyebrow, “Your father… didn’t want to talk about his feelings?” He asks, skeptical. “You know we have friends who have waited for this moment since long after we die?” Rupert’s face contorts painfully, the whole ‘we’re time traveling Magicians on a quest’ thing still doesn’t entirely make sense. But Papa El waves it off. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him. Are you going to see Anna today?”

“Yes, her parents are making something called a pie.”

“Ohh,” Papa El coos, pointing at him, “Grab me a slice.” And then he flashes him a slightly worried grin as there’s a crash from inside the cottage. “Ah, the toils of domesticity,” He murmurs, turning to head into the house. He closes the door behind him, and Rupert stands there for a moment. Can see their silhouettes in the window before Dad sits down on the small couch, and Papa El sits on the arm of the couch. Dad makes a grand sweeping motion with his arms, and Papa El reaches down to tangle his hand in Dad’s hair. Rupert decides to leave them to it as Dad leans into the touch, because there’s a pretty brunette waiting for him, and his parents, as dysfunctional and ridiculous as they are, are more than capable of taking care of themselves.

 

When he returns several hours later, two pieces of pie in hand, Papa El and Dad are sitting on the chairs outside the cottage, watching the sun set. Dad smiles at him, and Papa El smirks. It’s then that Rupert catches that their hands are interlinked between them, hanging in between the two chairs. “How was Anna?” Dad asks.

Hesitant, Rupert replies, “Good?”

“Good.”

Rupert narrows his eyes, but neither of them say anything else. He wants to ask if they’d talked. Wonders if anythings going to change. But then, Papa El looks down at the mosaic, wrinkles his nose. “God damn it,” He grumbles, pulling away to head over to it, “Q, these pieces are supposed to be switched—“

“Oh you are not blaming me—“ Rupert rolls his eyes and takes Papa El’s spot in the chair. Dad follows after Papa El, leans over to look at what he’s being accused of, but Papa El leans in, and kisses him, once, soft.

“Oh god,” Rupert groans, “Really? On the mosaic?”

 

 

 

 


End file.
